


The Journal of Geoffrey Calvin

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [6]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Merlin (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Foreshadowing, Gen, Seer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: A side-story to “Secrets and Families,” this is the tale, in Geoffrey’s own words, of how Merlin Emrys entrusted his family with the blades of the Knights of the Round Table, a spell to save a lost soul, and Emrys’ predictions regarding the future of the magical world.  A Magical Flashpoint Side Story





	The Journal of Geoffrey Calvin

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. Chronologically, it comes before any Magical Flashpoint Stories, but this story is closely connected with "Secrets and Families". I _strongly_ recommend reading "Secrets and Families" before this story, otherwise, it probably won't make much sense.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.
> 
> Fair warning, this story is entirely from the POV of an original character and _no_ Flashpoint characters appear. Merlin, the titular character of Merlin does appear, but this story is set after the end of that series.

I have often heard it said that time heals all wounds and yet, I cannot help but doubt that this is so. My friend Emrys still bleeds for those friends he could not save, the deaths he could not avert, and the actions that fate and destiny forced him into. I do not believe he will ever heal until that day when he stands face to face with his king and his friends to hear their judgment of him. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. After all, I have never before written down my thoughts and musings, never owned a fine journal like this one. ‘Twas my friend Emrys – who also knew and befriended my mother’s brother Sir Lancelot – who gave me this journal and bade me write down my thoughts and the events of these years for those of my family yet to come.

So perhaps I will start at the beginning, as I have heard in many a tale before this one. The first I heard of Emrys – or, as he prefers to be called, Merlin – was one month after Samhaine and the defeat of those fell creatures called the Dorocha when a knight came to our village in search of my mother and I. At first, we were greatly frightened by the knight, believing that he had been sent by King Uther in search of sorcerers – the late king, Aslan rest his soul, loathed magic and sought to extinguish it for all time. As any member of our family knows, magic has been part of us since our beginnings, long before Camelot and King Uther’s reign. But the knight meant us no harm, he had come with a letter and added to Merlin’s words his own deep regret at the death of Sir Lancelot; Sir Leon had served alongside him and held him in high respect. It was not to be the last time I met Sir Leon, he often volunteered to ferry letters to our humble village and taught me much of swordplay once I was old enough to wield a sword. In truth, I regarded Sir Leon as just as much a friend to my mother and I as he had been to my late uncle.

It was not until the second year of King Arthur’s reign that I met Emrys in person. Though he and my mother had exchanged some letters, his duties to the King precluded traveling to our small hamlet, even for a brief visit. But as King Arthur’s reign was peaceful that year, Emrys and several other knights came to visit us; they delivered the King’s regrets that he could not come himself as he might have done in the past. Though their visit meant hiding our magic, both my mother and myself were pleased to meet the knights my uncle had served with; each of them regaled us with stories of the brave knight. That visit also marked the first time I heard tell of what had befallen Sir Lancelot after his death, forced into serving the very Witch he fought in life. To this day, the thought fills me with anger, that such perversions can be permitted, that the souls of the dead cannot be left in peace, and that a brave man’s name can be besmirched through no fault of his own. ‘Twas fortunate that Emrys told me this in private, away from the knights, for my anger burned so at his news that my magic raged and nearly scorched the trees we were beneath. Emrys prevented my magic from doing any damage and then we each stared at the other, dumbfounded that the other had magic. For a moment, I had feared for my life and my mother’s, but if he had magic too… Emrys’ concern was that I would turn my magic to darkness, as so many others had done, but my mother taught me better than that. That night, Emrys revealed his secret to my mother and we spoke long into the night; I shall never forget the look on Emrys’ face when my mother revealed that Sir Lancelot had also possessed magic. The horror, the grief, and even shame. Perhaps that is why he began to investigate my uncle’s final fate…

Visits over the years were sparse and much anticipated events in my young life. Most often, what we received were letters, delivered by Sir Leon, and brief swordplay lessons as I sought to live up to Sir Lancelot’s memory. When word came of Sir Elyan’s death, my mother and I grieved just as much as Sir Leon; another who had known and respected my uncle was gone. After Sir Elyan’s death, Sir Leon stayed some days, teaching me as much of the sword as he could; I believe he taught me in order to bury his grief and feel as if he was doing something productive. I, in turn, decided that I was quite done with losing those important to me; one night I snuck Sir Leon’s armor out of his tent and cast several protective enchantments on it. Would that I could have done the same for King Arthur and the other knights, but it was not to be. That was the last time I saw Sir Leon for some time; less than six months later King Arthur and Sir Gwaine fell at Camlann.

After Queen Guinevere’s reign had been established, Emrys came to our village, the wounds on his heart from King Arthur’s death still weeping and tearing. Mother sought to comfort him, reassuring him that the King and his Knights already held a place in history for their many noble actions; that magic would survive and endure despite all that King Uther had done. It was not enough; though I love my Mother, nothing she said was what Emrys wanted to hear. That night, Emrys slipped out of our hut and I followed him. I asked him if the friends he lost would regret how they died. For a time, I thought I had fumbled just as badly as my Mother, but then Emrys spoke. He said they would not regret dying for Camelot, for freedom, but that _he_ regretted never trusting them with the truth of what he is. He believed that _he_ had failed, that the destiny placed on him from the time he first arrived in Camelot had failed due to _his_ actions. And I? I rebuked him, telling him that everyone makes mistakes, everyone has regrets and failures. What is far more important is what we do with those mistakes, those regrets, those failures. Will we let them drag us down and destroy the future Aslan plans for us or will we let the Lion catch us and carry us in His paws? Was that when Emrys decided on his path? I will never ask and he has never said. It was that night that Emrys gave me the spellbook _his_ mentor, Gaius, had given him and bade me use and keep it; entrusting the knowledge within the tome to my family.

After that night and that visit, the letters were few and far between; the last came not long after Mother departed her body for Aslan’s Country. As always, it was Sir Leon who delivered the letter, passing on his condolences on my Mother’s death and his congratulations for my marriage to my wife, my strength and my helpmeet. As in times past, Sir Leon tested my skill with a blade and taught me new skills; it was a reminder of happier, more carefree days. Before he was to leave, I made my decision and drew him aside to tell him of my family’s secret. His shock was plain to see and even deeper when I told him that though my uncle had had magic too, my uncle had never used it, not even once. The knight was silent for some time, then he asked why I had told him. I responded that I believed it was time to trust, time to let my magic out where it could be seen and judged by my actions, rather than the Witch’s actions. I know not what Sir Leon thought, he departed without another word and never shall I meet him again in this life…Emrys came himself the next month with word that both Sir Leon and Sir Percival had fallen in battle against a hydra.

This year marked the end of the Pendragon rule, as Queen Guinevere died without heirs. Emrys, when he came, confided to me that he will not return to Camelot until the day when the Once and Future King rises once more. After my wife had retired for the evening, Emrys revealed one of his other reasons for visiting. Until the time of the Once and Future King arrives, Emrys needs a place to keep the King’s and the Knights’ swords safe; a place he wishes for me to determine. Should Emrys keep the swords himself, they will be exposed, in the open for any who wish to steal them. To leave them with my house would guard them well, as my house would hide the knowledge as well as we hide the swords. Emrys cautioned me that they are not to be used, except in the greatest of needs, a need he would elaborate on in good time. Emrys’ face is shadowed as he speaks and I fear his news greatly. What can have happened that so great a warlock is troubled and burdened by it?

‘Tis a good thing that I have learned to school my magic and my temper, for the news Emrys bore would have led to the destruction of my home elsewise. Sir Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table and even now respected by friend and foe alike, is yet bound to the Witch, Morgana Le Fay. When she died, she was banished to the Netherworld for her actions against Camelot and, indeed, all of Albion. Thus was my late honored uncle also banished to the Netherworld, free in heart, but not in spirit, his soul bound by Morgana’s Shade spell. To save him would require a warlock of his… _my_ blood and six Knights willing to brave all the horrors that the Netherworld holds. _I_ am willing, but with the fall of Camelot, there are no Knights to be found. Emrys has not given up though, he has seen that there is yet a chance to free Sir Lancelot. I have no real understanding of Seers and Prophecy; I do not trust to Fate and Destiny as Emrys does. I would rather trust to the Lion and His plans. And yet…I find that I trust in Emrys’ vision of what is to come, though it be far darker than either of us would wish. That those of magic will turn on each other, condemning those born of non-magical blood – my heart weeps that it will come to that. Will those of the future truly forget that all men bleed red, that all men are descended from those who had not a lick of magic? Thank the Lion that Emrys says my family will not fail in such a way, though the fate that awaits them is by no means clear, even to Emrys. Murder, fire, and a new home across the endless water? Such nonsense is why I do not usually trust in Seers, no offense to Emrys. How such a future will help my uncle, I do not know, unless Emrys intends that those of my blood should seek out this text and find the spell he created within.

* * * * *

It has been some time now since last I wrote, this journal keeping seems to be far more bother than it is worth, but my dear wife insisted that I write in it once more. Emrys came again today, his eyes far more alive than they have been in _years_. We introduced the children to him, of course, and told them that he had known their great-uncle, though I fear they were not terribly interested in a great-uncle who died long before they were born. Emrys hardly waited after the children had been put to bed, he related that he had returned once again to the Crystal Cave seeking answers. He will not speak of anything he saw and I was dismayed to see that shadows have once more returned to his eyes. Truly, what good is it to see the future if Emrys’ state is the price of it? One thing he _has_ insisted upon and my wife agrees: the spell he crafted must be inscribed in this journal of mine and the journal itself hidden with the swords of the King and his Knights until it can be placed in a family library.

And so, this is my final entry; I wish to speak to those of my blood who have read my words. Do not take lightly the spell within these pages; it is not for sport or jest, it is not meant to be used save at the greatest of needs. Nor will the spell _alone_ save a lost soul, you will need courage, courage, courage to stand your ground and hold the line. To the Isle of the Blessed you must go for the spell to work properly. Once there, a warlock of my blood must open the way, six Knights must guard the path, and together you will guide a lost soul home from the depths of the Netherworld.

_Heortscraef léoa onhlíde séo faereld. Ferthgrim rídereas nerung paet mearcpaeth. Gaderung gerihtrecath ofhendene sáwol hámsíth._

Aslan Bless, my Heirs and remember that you are also His Heirs…there is no place so dark and deep that He cannot find you there; in the deepest darkness, call upon Him and He will deliver.

**Author's Note:**

> This little Side-Story comprises my first foray into first person and journal entries. I know most of my readers prefer stories with our favorite _Flashpoint_ characters...OC only stories like this one are very few and far between, I promise. Oh, and for anyone looking for the translation of the spell: You'll find that in Secrets and Families.
> 
> This Side-Story is being posted in honor of my birthday this year, so please, if you're going to flame...don't flame until the 15th?


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